1I wrote this a long time ago, because I read one of those twilight books (can't remember which one) and I got mad at the way Bella's life was just so depressingly empty after her high-school boyfriend left.
That night, right after he left me, I couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop crying. It was as if a damn had opened and all the anguish in the world had to flow through it before it could be closed again. That night, as I laid curled on the bed, alone in the darkness, my dry sobs the only sound, eerily loud in the empty room, I felt my heart break, an almost physical pain clutching at it, and I wondered if I would die. The heartache was too much; the small, fragile organ would surely stop beating soon, and then I wouldn't have to live through that frightening emptiness which had gripped me as he walked out of the door, case in hand.
That night I didn't even have enough strength to call for my friends, to phone my family and ask for help. I couldn't even think of moving; I had been paralysed by some kind of cold torment, and my mind couldn't even grip the concept of moving from where I was, couldn't even muster up the energy to get up and turn on the lights, couldn't even think of anything past the pain and the hurt and the sadness and the tears flowing down my cheeks, his parting words resonating horribly in my mind, refusing to let go. When I fell asleep it was out of pure exhaustion, tear tracks evident in my face, curled onto myself, gripping tight the small cushion.
My sleep was unrestful, my dreams haunted by what had taken place mere hours before. And when I woke it was well past noon, and my heart still felt like it had been replaced by a twisting, swirling void. I felt the acute need to call my friends, my mother, and tell them everything. I finally managed to get up and dragged myself to the phone, and without even looking punched in my best friend's number. And then I heard her voice at the other side of the phone, and suddenly, though I was sure there were no tears left in me, I started crying again. Through my sobs I barely managed to tell her of what had happened, and for half an hour we stayed on the phone, my friend silent, and I crying; just knowing she was there brought me some measure of comfort, and when I hung up I called my Mum, and trying to keep my voice from breaking, I told her he had left me. And I knew she could hear the grief anyway, and I didn't even bother to put up a happy face; my Mum knew me better than I myself sometimes did. And she spoke to me, quietly, and though we didn't say much I felt some strength coming back to me.
I laid on the couch for a while, too upset to turn on the tv, feeling number by the second. Standing abruptly I determinedly walked into the bathroom, and carefully removed the smeared make-up from the previous night. I stripped and walked into the shower, letting my hair come undone, and turned the water scalding hot.
Before I knew it, I was crying in the shower, but this time the sobs wrenched from my body seemed somehow angrier, more alive, as the hollow pain was slowly replaced by anger. 'How dare he?' I muttered against the cold tiles, letting my head rest against the wall, the now warm water caressing my body and slowly erasing the blinding headache. I got out of the shower, dried myself carefully, almost lovingly, with the towel, and then decided not to straighten out my hair. He had always liked it straight, and for some reason I had complied, straightening my hair every morning, but this time I let it curl and even put on some styling mousse to make the curls thicker and more defined. It felt like a small act of defiance, and when I put on some comfy clothes I almost felt normal again. I went into the kitchen, prepared some dinner, and sat in front of the tv. I didn't usually watch much tv, but that night I didn't want to think. After eating I swallowed some pills for my headache and soon went to bed –I might have slept, but I still felt sore and tired.